Making sure to pick up the pace, he kept his weight as far back as it would go so he wouldn't go tumbling forwards to sliding off the edge. Khloros was helping, he was keeping the boy balanced on his back and when he moved up beside him to take his place in front, a parting nuzzle was the only sign he actually appreciated what he was doing. Getting some booger on himself, he wrinkled his nose and swiped over it with the back of his paw, halting briefly. Herbivores were disgusting pieces of work sometimes.

Warning was given by Booker about Baratheon's reaction, though he was expecting it to be less than pleasant. Not entirely sure whether he was mad at the pair or at himself, he growled again, "Well you better make sure he doesn't." Muscles sore, although he wasn't entirely sure why he had to slow down. They reached the base in what felt like hours and by the bottom he felt himself waver, stagger and collapse to his knees. Still, he balanced the numbat on his back as he forced himself upright again. All this walking was probably doing his head in, the ground stretched out in front of them and he felt nauseated just thinking of the rest of the trek. 'Damn dragon where the fuck are you.'

As the gorge was the only real way to get back home, he began to amble off in that direction, requiring Khlor's stick legs to keep him going in a straight direction. The weakened twister tugged him forwards, but he had to make sure he didn't get sucked up into it. Behind him, his old home, his den and the platforms that made up the centre of Merry Men's world lay behind him. Moving forwards, he would need to change, to adapt and cope. But he felt so damn tired, he just wanted to curl up and forget all about it. Curl up and...

Unable to walk any further, it was by sheer coincidence it was next to the only water source in Monoceros as he collapse slightly. Coupled with his recent infection, the fact he had been walking for almost half a day solid, the weight on his back, it was too much and he fell to his knees. "God fucking..." Wanting to roll in the water to take the weight off him, he felt Book, paralyzed on his back just lay there. They both lay there. "Just.. Get him off me. You carry him or whatever." Frustrated, cranky and miserable, he wriggled out from under the numbat and exhaled in annoyance. Out over the water, was where Baratheon lay in his little pool of sadness, but he was blinded by his own problems to seek him out.

Khloros did not speak, at first; he hadn't expected the sickness to strike so quickly. But strike it did, and a moment later, Louie was on the ground.

Was that my doing?

He changed course, turning back to gently try to lift Louie on his back, but the fox wanted no part of it. For a moment Khloros paused, flicking glowing eyes to Louie and doing his best to sense just how strong the bacterial activity was within him. It didn't take much; the agitated bacteria, swarming in each of them like stirred-up ants, was clear to see--at least for him.

"Are you all right, Louie?" he asked softly, even gently, as he moved to Booker. He ducked down, a quiet but grim satisfaction filling him as he realized that now it was he who would carry Booker. Louie couldn't harm him, now. He nudged and moved his numbat friend, murmuring to him.

"Come on, Booker. I'll carry you. Louie, if you change your mind..."

The colt turned, watching Louie. He was vaguely curious as to whether he'd feel anything, seeing the fox staggering and ill, and he found that he did. He felt faintly satisfied, and strangely peaceful, as if wading through still waters in a calm dream. He felt a vague, detached pity, or perhaps sympathy. But he had no desire to reverse what he'd done; he felt that it was the right path. The right thing to do.

With Booker settled on his back, Khloros gave a gentle whuffle and then waited, watching, to ensure that Louie was able to follow. Once they were both on the move, Khloros turned, striding slowly and sedately down to the pools.

It was time to face the dragon.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

"Baratheon Speech"

He heard it all, every little bit through the link. Louie was letting him leave? So what? He wasn't healing Booker. He would keep them under his thumb with the pretense of being freed though it lifted his heart a tiny bit that they wouldn't be forced into a war. The Bonebound would be safe but they still were not. Should he still go away? Delphine didn't want him to, she believe in him... Booker believed in him. No one else did. They were right in thinking that way.

A sigh rumbled out of his throat. He didn't want to be hopeless... He wanted to live but at the same time he did not. Booker's words brought with him the sharp sense of reality, that there were others that depended on him and yet...

His eyes blinked open in the waking world outside of his head. Everything was blurry and sharp, too much. He closed his eyes again, blinking them rapidly as he tried to adjust. He could hear the crunch of paws and hooves on solid ground. Others were coming towards him, he already knew who. They wanted to collect him. To go. He wanted to be left alone but he could not. Perhaps if he still had any fight left he would demand that Louie heal Booker... Was there any fight in his tired body?

"Just.. Get him off me. You carry him or whatever." Half-face's voice. Tired. Or sick, he supposed... He didn't know. What he did know was that the voice brought it's usual discomfort, his upset. He still felt hatred towards the beast that brought this much pain and torture to his soul. There was fight, as tiny as it was. Was he still an alpha? A king? Hardly... Not yet... But he still had Booker and he couldn't just die yet. Was there hope? He didn't know the answer...

"Come on, Booker. I'll carry you. Louie, if you change your mind..." He knew everything that was happening, knew what Louie said he would do. Perhaps he should push it a little. His head slowly lifted, long neck raising and body uncurling to reveal his gargantuan length like some sort of sea monster rising from the depths.

He didn't turn and when he spoke his baritone voice was raspy from disuse. "Have you finally grown tired of us? Or are you taking us away on one of your stupid errands? Either way, I don't trust you, as Booker does, to keep your word and actually free us..." Now he turned, eyes locking onto the fox with distrust and hatred in his gaze. However, he made no move to attack and his tired voice and eyes should have been enough to show that he had no intention of doing so. "If you are speaking the truth... Then free him from his illness right now... Show that I should believe a single word from your filthy mouth, Half-Face." Despite his bold words they were empty, no emotion. He was just speaking facts, what he truly thought of the fox's intentions. It was an accretion of all the torture he'd undergone in the cruel place of wind.

He spoke not to his Bonded for Booker already knew his thoughts and he spoke not to the plague horse brother for he was not important in that moment. Only the lying vulpine.

That horse decided to ask if he felt alright and he seriously wanted to smack him upside the head. "Do I fucking look like I'm OK?" It hadn't been that sudden, he couldn't connect the dots of Khloros being the infector, as it didn't feel like anything bacterial for the moment. Just, laying where he had fallen, he didn't even care when plague boy began moving away with Booker. Was there anything he really cared about right now? Maybe he should just tell them all to fuck off and be out of his life. This close contact with others was driving him insane.

Next that dragon came. That fucking dragon who felt he was so fucking smart because he was huge when all he was was an overgrown lizard who acted like the king of Origin cave. Just because he was special, just because he was born with the gift of wings and the weight of a million Nemesises. Perhaps his bitterness stemmed from the idea that he had lost in the game of chance for physical size and prowess. Not even making a move to get up, the dragon spoke like he was a thousand years old. More than anything it angered him, being spoken to like he was the child out of this group. Louie rolled his eyes and wheezed, "I'm-" he cut himself off at the stupidity of his answer and left it hanging. Just because he was supposedly going to heal Booker didn't mean he still didn't have his own dastardly intentions for doing so.

Approaching it in a different way, actually, completely changing the topic, he addressed his question, "I'm not healing him now. If it's not fucking obvious I'm not exactly in a state to make anyone feel better." Looking up at Baratheon with his one eye, he didn't comment on being called Half-Face. Only the most petty of creatures resorted to name calling. It wasn't like his name was actually Louie anyway. "Once we get to Eridanus. I'll heal him. OK? I'm not going back on my word." Though his time spent being tired was not up to the same length as Baratheon, he felt like he had aged a thousand nights in a matter of a couple of hours. Being forced to drag himself to his feet, the stinging sensation of a thousand ants biting at his paw pads, he set his jaw and pushed himself to remain upright.

"OK, question time is over. Let's get to Eridanus and talk there." Keeping his only eye focused on the far away tunnel exit, he began staggering, limping, walking, to where they needed to go.

Louie could barely move. Sick. Too sick.

Khloros turned, pacing slowly back to Louie and leaning down as if to gently nuzzle him again.

Gentle. Affectionate... reassuring.

Just another touch... only this time, he whispered softly in the fox's ear, giving him the lightest brush of touch. It was kindness, this contact, but the words--carefully kept too quiet for others to hear--were not.

The horse's tone, however, was still gentle, still a barest murmur--though there was no emotion in it, only a sort of soothing, peaceful calm. It was as if he was still being kind, sweet, even as his words drifted into the fox's hearing. His words were poison.

"It will get a lot worse, if you don't. It will kill you, I think. I don't want to do that. I like you... But you can undo what you did to Booker, and then I'll make it go away. I don't want you to hurt. Louie."

Khloros gave Louie the lightest brush over his head, a light nibble of velvety horse muzzle, and then turned away to--for some reason, stare fixedly at Baratheon, his pale lamplike eyes glowing. It might have been a warning, a warning for the dragon to keep his temper, or perhaps he simply wanted to turn away and give Louie some dignity. Dignity to make a choice, dignity to choose to flee, or fight, or give up, or heal Booker. Or perhaps the foal simply understood on some instinctual level that staring the fox down would only aggravate him further. Or then again, maybe he was indicating the obvious: that he was waiting for Louie to heal Booker, and then they would all continue down this path. The path to Eridanus.

He wondered, vaguely, if Louie felt anything at all. If he still planned to kill him--or all of them--and if he valued his life, more than his pride. If he'd try to simply fight the illness, and keep his control over the group of them. He realized that he himself still felt vaguely sad for Louie. Pity? Empathy? But it wasn't enough to stay his hand. He hoped that the outcome would be pleasing for them all, but if it wasn't... Well. The events and revelations of the last two weeks had changed the foal. He wasn't sure he would feel much, even if his threat, or bluff, backfired entirely.

Either way, the pawns were all laid out, clear for all to see. How Louie chose to make his move would dictate the rest of this sick and twisted game.

Khloros could only hope that his opening move had ended it.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

So many interruptions and his head was swimming, he couldn't afford to keep stopping and chatting. Teeth now grinding together, he tried not to fall back onto his knees when the plague horse decided to whisper in his ear. Rather than stopping, he just kept staggering forwards, charging onward with determination to get to the forest place. It was all fixed in his head now. That was his goal and he wasn't going to stop for anything.

'It will get a lot worse, if you don't. It will kill you'. Ears twitching, he stared ahead. The trade off wasn't worth it to him. His life wasn't worth what he hoped to gain from this in the first place. "It can wait. We will get to Eridanus. It can wait..." Fearful of blacking out, with the knowledge that this may have been Khloros' doing, he considered boosting his immune system, but he'd already told the dragon he didn't have the energy to even heal himself. So he had to stick it out until they reached their home. Lying to the dragon now was a stupid idea. Better to keep on the charade and risk death through this act, then to die in the jaws of Baratheon for tripping over his own words and promises.

"Don't stop moving. We will be there soon enough."

"Baratheon Speech"

Those pink eyes never left the fox. He heard the tone of voice, that irritating tone. It worked to begin rekindling that flame within his soul. He wanted Booker healed now. He didn't trust the fox, didn't believe him at all. However, if the fox was lying anyway and he didn't heal them in Eridanus... Baratheon would end him.

The dragon's head snaked forward towards the fox, his eyes narrowing in a glare. "Fine... I will take your word. We will leave here and go to Eridanus but if you don't heal him as soon as we get there then it's your head." Not really but he was certainly good at bluffing.

His great head nodded and he began to climb out of the water. I don't think he could kill us... If he tried it would be the last thing he ever did. Well, he could kill Booker relatively easily but not the dragon. Baratheon would make sure of it.

Khloros stood like a looming shadow, as if he had no emotion, no care. As if he could take it or leave it all: Louie's life, Booker's. He was patient, eternal, waiting.

In reality, it was a mask that even his inner self wore, for the moment his mind stopped balking at the situation that had unraveled and faced the truth, he would break down. He knew this, somehow. It was just too much for one young creature to take: the destruction, the betrayal, the friend deathly ill and held, in a sense, hostage. If he faced it, if he allowed himself to feel, he would begin to scream and cry and run blindly into the caves.

And he couldn't do that. Not yet. He had to suppress it, to choke it all back behind a black veil of calm, pretending to be stoic while his heart twisted and tore and tried to wring emotion from him. To pretend to be impassive, and let that empty buzz settle over his mind, while it threatened to just start screaming.

So while he waited for the others to make their choices he stood, silent and trying to retain control over himself, over his feelings. To smother it all down and hide it even from himself.

He did not speak. And he barely thought, bar one, repeating concept that drifted repeatedly through his mind:

I can't afford to be weak.

Louie had harmed much more than Booker in his underhanded dealings. Beside him, in his potential murderer, innocence had been torn forcibly away.

The only question now was how it would all unfold--and between the stillness of Khloros and the apparent silence of Booker, it looked like that decision would fall to Louie and to Baratheon.

Khloros, however, had made his decision. His control regained, he spoke calmly at last.

"To Eridanus, then."

Quietly, gently, delicately, he stepped past Baratheon, heading for the tunnel beyond.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD